"Master of Pain. Master of Blood. Master of Death. I surrender to you my body and soul for all Eternity..."
She ran the blade firmly but steadily across his throat. She observed the pleasure transform to terror, the horror to pain. She bathed in the crimson fountain of his blood, peering deep into his bright blue eyes as the light of life dimmed never to shine again, and then with abandon, embraced the sweet rapture of his slaying...
"Mary Lesley Walker you have been found guilty of the crime of multiple murders. You will be taken to a public place where you will be stripped naked, secured to a whipping post and lashed fifty times. Thereafter you will then be hanged by the neck till you are dead. And may God have mercy upon your soul."
"I do not seek the mercy of your God. There is only one I serve - the Devil!"
Sarah Jane: pretty, young, petite and brunette. She had viciously whipped her naked restrained body, blindfolded with clamped nipples and labia. She had choked her to orgasm - it was what she had paid her for - and then choked her to oblivion whilst her bladder emptied in her death spasms. They had almost come together. She laughed...
She was totally naked and felt the warmth of the May sun upon her bare back. It had been a while since she had experienced that and reminded her briefly of her childhood sunbathing on the beach with her father. She was firmly secured to the whipping-cross - her arms, pale and bare, were outstretched and fastened by thick leather restraints to the oak cross member. Her torso was similarly secured to the upright forcing her breasts out each side of the narrow beam. The bottom half of the whipping-cross was in the shape of an upside down 'V' and her legs strapped firmly to the supports - her smooth shaved genitalia vulnerable both to eyes and shortly, very shortly, the 'cat'...
She dangled the severed black penis with blood dripping from its shaft in front of its agonised wide-eyed former owner, John Onogo, screaming mutely behind the ball gag...
She had been 'The Queen of Sheba' to his 'Nubian Slave'. He had been on the point of coming, his well-proportioned member quivering, when she had sliced it off in one swift movement with the sharp blade of a Stanley Knife...
She gazed into the dark abyss of his terrified dark eyes, dark eyes from the Dark Continent - how apt, she thought. He took a while to die, finally twitching as the last of his blood drained from his muscled blue-black frame as she climaxed rubbing her engorged clit with his, now flaccid, cock...
She was at the northern end, behind where the goalposts would normally be, of the Solent Stars football stadium. The rest of ground was full to capacity of those that had paid good money to see her suffer and then die - they were sick ghouls, but she kind of understood that. About ten yards behind her was the temporary scaffold with the noose awaiting her slender neck. Cameras had been strategically placed to capture every angle of her flogging and execution along with giant television screens around the stadium. She could also see the flag of the PNP - The Progressive Nationalist Party - fluttering from the awnings of the stadium. It was a compelling design she pondered - a golden yellow swastika with three curved spokes upon an Azure blue circle enclosed by a green rectangle. Its leader, Eric de Wolff and now Prime Minister, said it represented the sun in a blue sky shining down upon a green and pleasant land - a symbol of hope. Next to the flag was a giant portrait of the man himself, Eric de Wolff - flowing yellow hair, strong Nordic features and sporting a Viking moustache. Beneath the portrait was a banner with the words emblazoned across it - Justice Will Set Us Free.
She did not seek freedom herself; she only strove to serve one, the one - the Master of Pain, the Master of Blood, the Master of Death. And soon she would be kneeling in front of him.
She heard the tails of the flogger whistle through the air then rivulets of agonising pain sear into the flesh of her back...
A moment earlier he had said, trying to conceal the growing fear in his posh voice: "I'm actually a psychiatrist and I can help you-"
She had interjected and responded coolly, "You can neither help me. Or yourself."
He was a grey-haired man with grey eyes and a grey pallor - she found him repulsive and pathetic. He was tied firmly across a school gym horse and his buttocks were crisscrossed with crimson stripes where she had caned him hard - it was a re-enactment from his public-school days, and he had paid her handsomely. It only remained for her to sodomise him with a strap-on for his fantasy to be complete.
She picked up the red-hot poker in her gloved right hand and thrust it hard into his rectum...
She orgasmed and cried out both in pain and release as the forty second stroke of the 'cat' lashed across her bare buttocks. The crowd bayed now for her death.
The policeman flashed his credentials. "May I come in?" She let him into her dungeon. "Interesting place you have here. We're looking for a James Mayhew. He went missing three days ago..."
Strong arms guided her across the turf, up the steps of the scaffold and onto the platform. Her head was swimming and her back and buttocks were numb - she was beyond fear. Her wrists then her ankles were pinioned firmly before she was ushered onto the trapdoor. She felt the coarse rope of the noose tightened around her throat. A strand of her blonde hair blew briefly in front of her blurred vision before a momentary sensation of weightlessness that culminated in choking and a terrific pain in her spine. She struggled to get her legs back onto the platform to alleviate the horrendous agony that racked her naked body...
"Dance you fucking murdering bitch!"
The point of light began to grow, soon it had suffused her being. The pain dissipated. She felt blissful.
She was kneeling in His presence now.
"Surrender me your soul, Mary, and I will grant you every wish of your dark and deranged lusts. You will live for all time in the Rhyming Eternity, and so will The Dark One through you but know that these so called 'Men of God' will call you to account, for that is woven into the Fabric of All Infinities and cannot be undone. And they will punish you as you have punished, and for that time we will be apart, and you will be alone. But when it is done you will once again be mine. Now, bequeath me your soul, my child and let the night become your day."
"Yes, Master, Master of Pain, Master of Blood, Master of Death, I surrender my soul, it is yours."
She threw her unworthy naked body upon the cold granite slabs of His Temple and as He took possession of her spirit, she cried out in ecstasy...
She opened her eyes. She was back in her lounge and back where it had all began. She understood now, understood that each manifestation of The Rhyming Eternity would be changed ever so slightly from the one before. She realised that to serve Him was to serve her self - her soaking cunt was testament to that.
She picked up the local newspaper by the side of her sofa and turned to the 'Property to Let' section - she needed to have a dungeon as soon as possible. She knew she would do well as a Mistress with her statuesque figure, blonde hair and elegant features even though she was only just twenty.
She suddenly fancied a coffee, it was just seven, and stood up to go into the kitchen. On impulse she clicked on the television. Channel 4 News had just started, and John Snow was addressing the audience: "Tonight we ask how long the Conservative government under David Cameron can survive after Eric de Wolff, the charismatic foreign secretary, resigned both his post and the party today..."